My Obsession, My Bakura
by amidoh
Summary: Overcome with lust and unable to restrain himself, Marik creeps into Bakura's room one evening, steeling himself forever to be hated by the object of his desire... but will it all turn out so bad? Yaoi warning, MarikXBakura slash. One shot, and very ooc.


Disclaimer: If I owned Yu-Gi-Oh, would I really be writing fanfictions about it? No. I'd be writing episodes. Do try to think before you assume things.

Note: please excuse my ignorance. I only started watching Yu-Gi-Oh about a week ago. I write because I enjoy writing, not because I know the correct names of all the characters... so no flames like "YOU DON'T KNOW THEIR NAMES, BAKA!" I'm well aware that I don't know their names. As I just said.

* * *

I am Marik. And I have made it my quest to take the Egyptian God Cards. In my quest, I control other people's minds, with the help of my Millennium Rod, so it is quite embarrassing for me to admit that I have little control over my own mind. 

Especially my lust.

I have great difficulty controlling my lust – a lust that started when I met a boy called Bakura. He was a polite little thing, at least until the spirit possessing him showed himself. That was when my infatuation started. In my defence, it is hard to resist someone with a mysterious side. Perhaps that is why I am so drawn to Yugi Motou, but my obsession with Bakura is far more... _controlling._

I am actually surprised in myself how long I managed to keep myself sane, especially while in close contact with Bakura. It took all my self-control to stop myself leaping on him when we were close.

I got my chance in Kaiba's blimp, where the finals of the tournament were held. I had made an arrangement with Bakura – Yami Bakura, of course. The spirit of the Millennium ring. I doubted whether the real Bakura would listen to my bartering. My room was near Bakura's.

I could not have controlled myself any longer without losing some of my sanity, and when I had such a charade to play that was not the best idea. And that was the reason why I crept into Bakura's room that night, while he was asleep, with some of my own silken cords.

I stopped by his bed, my breath taken away by the sight of his beauty – a beauty that would no doubt be wrecked by the morning. I should have felt guilty, and to some extents I did. Who was I to ruin such perfection, just to satisfy my own selfish needs?

I ran my fingers through his silky white hair and he mumbled a little in his sleep, turning over on to his front. Such innocence! Could I really taint such naivety? Would I really have stolen it by the time I had finished tonight? Yes. Yes, I would.

With ghostly soft touch, I tied my silken ropes around his wrists, then his ankles, then his neck and finally one around his eyes until he was splayed out in front of me, helpless, still asleep, each limb attached to a bedpost, his neck to the headboard. The blindfold was an extra touch – I didn't want him to know it was me who was to violate him so. I didn't want him to hate me.

I tore away the covers then – I had restrained myself by revealing only the parts of his flesh that I was binding, a test of my control – and a wondrous sight greeted my starving eyes. Bakura was naked! Oh, my eyes... they could not have hurt more if they had been burned out of their sockets, they could not have seen more pleasure if I had all three of the Egyptian God Cards in front of me!

I dragged my tortured gaze down the well-built shoulders, the sinewy back, the firm, highly biteable arse... my face tightened, I could not resist... I could feel my control ebbing away, withering and dying.

I brought my hand down in a fist to strike Bakura across the back, and the object of my desire awoke with a sharp curse. I was surprised, but I was a fool. Had I really expected the boy, and not the spirit? If it weren't for the Yami then the boy would still be in the hospital, unconscious. Why was I shocked?

My fingertips brushed against his back. I was slightly worried that my bangles may give my identity away, but it I managed to avoid them touching his soft skin. He hissed out a complaint, demanding that I tell him who I was. I did not reply.

Perhaps it is degrading for me to admit that what I wanted most was to bury my head in his strong chest, against his sternum, for him to stroke my hair and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Whoever would have thought that Marik had a sensitive side? I don't think _I_ ever thought I had a sensitive side!

Oh, I wanted to press my lips against his, to feel his tongue slide in to my mouth as he claimed me as his own... perhaps after controlling so many people I am slightly masochistic, and it is awkward for me to confess this. I finally admitted to myself that I was in love – a word I associated, at least up until that moment, with weaklings and fools.

I stared at the beautiful figure in front of me, oblivious to his commanding me to release him. I had considered gagging him, but had deemed that too cruel – I, Marik! Showing lenience! I realised how my obsession had grown, how infatuated I had become.

I ran my hand up his leg, up his thigh, and he jerked against the cord that rendered him helpless. I felt a strange prang in my chest, the area just below about where my heart was. Was that – could that have been guilt? All of a sudden, was I developing a conscience for abusing him against his will? No... NO! I would not allow such a silly crush to weaken me!

Again I struck him across the back, where there was already a purple bruise forming, and I heard him growl slightly, an action which could only have worsened his predicament, for at that sound I could contain myself no more. I pulled my small pocketknife out of my clothes and dragged it across his back, carving my name in deep, bloody scars.

I must give him credit, for not once during this terrible act did he make any noise, not even when my sharp, tormenting blade passed over the awful discolouring of the bruise, letting the blood ooze out. Not once did he whimper or cry out as I etched my name on his back. Marking my territory.

At last I was done, my name scarred on his flesh in great, spiky rune-like lettering. His blood was spattered up my front and I stared in a kind of frozen horror at what I had done – was I possessed? I had hurt him! But I was Marik, I was good at hurting people, I did it every day!

I blinked and one single pearly tear escaped my eye, not unnoticed, to splash on the terrible wounds I had caused. My Bakura shuddered slightly as the wetness of my tear was lost in the wetness of his blood.

Then... Then I inserted one finger in the vertical slash that made the "I" of Marik, no doubt widening and worsening the wound. Still no sound emanated from the bound body in front of me. I took my now bloodstained digit out of my love's back and moved it around to brush against his lips.

What happened next not even I was prepared for. His mouth closed around my finger and I jerked subconsciously as I felt the warm caves close in, the gentle graze of the teeth, the lapping of his tongue on my pressure pad as he cleansed my finger, sucking away all his own blood.

Then he released me, growling a little, struggling more against my bonds, disregarding the fact that the scarf around his neck was starting to tighten, maybe fatally. I slipped my finger, wet with his attentions, between the silken material and his neck, wanting to save his life.

"Marik..." Bakura hissed. I froze at the sound of my name – had I given myself away? I had been so careful – had he figured out my identity, or was he guessing? Was it a bluff? What could I do, he would surely recognise my voice if I spoke, yet it would be suspicious if I stayed silent...

"You've got what you came for..." He groaned, cutting off the reply I had half-prepared. "So now untie me and leave!"

My fingertips spidered across his back, across his shoulder blades, and he exhaled in a shuddering sigh, before once again beginning to struggle against my ropes. My eyes ravished the muscles straining against his bleeding back, scanned over the lean toughness of his beautiful body... and my lust... my lust...

* * *

Well, I did it. I violated the one person I truly both love and lust after, and I did it so that he will probably never look at me again. I expect to meet him today, the morning after, so he can call our deal off. I am postponing the time when I venture out from the safety of my room. 

Ha. The safety of my room? That's probably what he thought last night – before I came in and stole his naivety, ruined his innocence. Now, can I, can anyone, look at him as the sweet, polite boy he was?

It is unlike me to be nervous, to be sure, it is completely unfitting, but I cannot help but feel a little afraid, and I do not know why. Will he be angry? Will he lash out and strike me as I struck him last night? Or will he just stare at me in a sad, introvert way, with his despair reflected in his eyes?

So that is the reason why I am peering cautiously around my doorframe. I see that the coast is clear, so I slip from my room and pad softly down the corridor. My breathing is coming in harsh, clipped gasps, and I am well aware that it does not serve for someone so respected to be so afraid, but I can do nothing about it.

I step round the corner and, straight away, I collide with the one person I am so afraid of. In a horror, my eyes sweep up his shirt, up his chest, to his neck, but I cannot look in his face. I think I am scared at what I might see in his eyes – loathing, hatred, maybe even trauma and despair... I hurt him last night. I hurt him a lot.

At last I bring myself to look at him. The way he holds his head high, the way he squares his shoulders... it shows that he has been hurt, but that he still has his pride. That may be the one thing I couldn't strip him of.

"Marik." He breathes in one sibilant exhalation, and something inside me shudders when he says my name. Oh, say it again, please say it again! I force my lavender eyes to meet his brown ones at last, to only discover that they are not filled with hatred, nor loathing. I cannot make out the emotion.

"Bakura." I answer, though, even to me, my voice sounds slightly choked. Has he noticed? Surely he knows it was I last night – my hesitation when he correctly guessed my name was enough to give that away.

He smirks at me, and one hand – one of _his_ hands – snakes up to rest on my stomach, which is exposed by my clothes. I quiver at the contact, my breathing hitching.

"So it was you." He whispers in my ear. "I had doubts after you didn't answer when I said your name." He nibbles my ear and I shiver in delight – last night seems so mild now, and he is not even engaging in any real activity! "You're going to have to learn to answer me when I call you, Marik..." He growls, and again, predictably, I shiver.

This is so out of character, so unexpected, so strange for both of us, I think. His hand is withdrawn from my flesh and his eyes seem to smile at me, so to the extent that for one moment, one small moment, I wonder if it is the hikari talking, and not the yami. But it could not be, the hikari is still too ill.

And now – oh, Ra, can it be true? – my Bakura is leaning forward, seemingly to kiss me. And, as if the great gods themselves have heard my pleas, the person – the very person who I have lusted after so often has kissed me, planted his lips on mine. His tongue is asking for entry into my mouth, and how can I deny such a thing? At last I can truly meet him, we can truly meet...

It is over, by the gods! All too soon it is over, yet I feel if it went on for any longer then I may have died, purely from heart failure. I am weak at the knees, and I look at Bakura to see him with a small, wicked grin. Has he read my mind?

"You're mine." He murmurs in a deep, sonorous voice, which tugs the very strings in my heart as it vibrates in the air around us.

"Yes – all yours..." my voice is a whimpering moan. Why should I, Marik, be reduced to a nervous, week-kneed wreck by one admittedly soul-searing kiss? I control other people – so why can he control me so? I feel that if he ordered me to leap from a cliff then I would, just for him.

He smiles at me once again as he walks away, and I have to struggle hard to conceal my shock and, embarrassingly, my pleasure behind my usual, practised poker face. I was obviously wrong; I couldn't have injured him so badly last night, even carving my name across his shoulders didn't scar his soul.

Maybe I can go back tonight, and again satisfy my insatiable needs, though perhaps tonight I shall feel Bakura's caresses instead of him feeling mine...

_owari_


End file.
